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The house was massive. The kind of thing you saw in British period dramas. It was carved from a solid block of gleaming rock I couldn’t identify. Turrets sat at each corner and two towers rose through the middle.
“That’s your house?” I said.
“That’s the family’s house,” Dyrel said.
“I knew you were rich but I didn’t know you were super-rich!”
Dyrel shrugged.
“It’s home,” he said.
Crazy to think this was his home. The house I grew up in wasn’t small but it would look like a shack compared to this thing.
The butterflies returned with a vengeance to my stomach. I clutched my purse in front of me, using it as a tiny shield.
Dyrel leaned over and kissed me on the neck.
“I want you to enjoy yourself,” he said. “And I promise, I will be at your side the entire night. I won’t leave. Not even to go to the bathroom.”
I would have chuckled but I was too nervous.
“You can leave to go to the toilet,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Okay,” he said. “But only when you go.”
I touched my hair and checked myself in the mirror.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “You’re gorgeous.”
“I hope your mom likes me,” I said.
“If she doesn’t, she’s a fool. And she is definitely not a fool.”
“Why are there so many other shuttlecraft here?” I said.
“Mom was having a family get-together tonight anyway. So it tied nicely with our plans.”
The entire family.
I gulped. Meeting his mom was bad enough. Having to meet his entire family…
“It’ll be fine,” Dyrel said. “At least this way, you only have to meet everybody once. There are more people, so there’s going to be less focus on you. It’ll be easier.”
It definitely didn’t feel easier.
Dyrel took my hand and led me down the ramp and toward the huge house and the challenge that I’d been working toward for the past ten days.
I’d never been so scared my entire life.
A servant bowed as we approached.
A servant!
And there was more than one.
I spied at least half a dozen milling around in the entrance hall alone, carrying silver trays with bright gleaming glassware. The guests wore suits and smart evening dresses.
“Good evening, young master,” the servant at the door said, bowing so low I thought he must be a yoga master. “Your mother’s in the drawing room, sir.”
